


Bleeding Inside

by Python07



Series: If Looks Could Kill [19]
Category: Forever (TV), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Crack Crossover, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, M/M, These two love to torture each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8254796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/pseuds/Python07
Summary: Treville's hurt and tired and his memories aren't helping.





	

It was always a rare treat for them to have a quiet morning together. It was even rarer for Treville to be awake first. He woke slowly to a wonderful sense of warmth and silence. He was curled up against Richelieu, skin-to-skin, in Richelieu’s soft bed. He kept his eyes closed, listening to Richelieu’s soft breathing.

He drifted for a while between asleep and awake. All he wanted to do was burrow closer. The problems in court and with Spain and Savoy seemed so far away. There was nothing but the two of them, Armand and Jean, not the Cardinal and the Captain.

He eventually stretched. He raised his head from Richelieu’s shoulder enough to see Richelieu’s face, relaxed in sleep, without all the stress and responsibility. He couldn’t help thinking that Richelieu looked ten years younger. 

He reached out to gently cup the side of Richelieu’s face. He ran his thumb along Richelieu’s bottom lip. Then he lightly ran his fingers along Richelieu’s cheek, brushed over his ear, and burrowed in his mussed curls.

Richelieu sighed. He offered a lazy, sleepy smile. He didn’t open his eyes and his voice was low and rough. “You’re staring at me.”

Treville mirrored the smile. He chuckled. He flexed his fingers, lightly brushing Richelieu’s scalp. “Just enjoying the moment.”

Richelieu tilted his head into the touch. “Nowhere to run off to this morning?”

Treville trailed light kisses along Richelieu’s jaw. “No,” he murmured. “You?”

Richelieu ran his fingertips along Treville’s spine. “The King overindulged last night. He will not be stirring for some time yet.”

Treville nuzzled just below Richelieu’s ear. “I’d hate to be the one who has to deal with His Majesty and His hangover.”

Richelieu rested his hand on the back of Treville’s neck. “Thankfully, that is not our duty today. I’m tempted to have a late morning myself.”

Treville playfully nipped at Richelieu’s ear. “You?”

Richelieu hissed quietly and his grip tightened. “Yes, me,” he growled. “I find myself becoming fatigued of late.”

Treville frowned against Richelieu’s skin. “You push yourself too hard.”

Richelieu’s hand traveled up, from Treville’s neck, and through Treville’s hair. It rested on the back of Treville’s head. “Don’t concern yourself.”

“Armand--” Treville started.

“I am quite well,” Richelieu interrupted placidly.

“And that’s why you’re feeling fatigued of late,” Treville muttered sourly. He started to pull away. “Perhaps, I should go and let you rest.”

Richelieu didn’t let go. He finally opened his eyes. “Jean,” he sighed in frustration. “Surely by now, you’re realized that I sleep better with you near.”

Treville’s eyes got wide for a moment before he smiled, warm and bright. He couldn’t help it. “I suppose I’m staying then.”

Richelieu pulled Treville in a for a quick kiss. Then he guided Treville’s head back down to his shoulder. “We have time. Go back to sleep, Jean.”

Treville settled back down. He tilted his face towards Richelieu’s neck. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was still smiling.

The easy atmosphere suddenly shifted into one of sharp edges. Treville felt everything starting to slip away. In a panic he grabbed for Richelieu. “No, it was our last morning together, before…” he gulped. “…before everything. Don’t take him from me.”

Richelieu was gone and he was alone and in pain. The furnishings of Richelieu’s bedroom dissolved and he was in a world awash in grays. He couldn’t make out any details. There was no color and no sound. He was cold, his chest was on fire, and he couldn’t breathe. “No,” he groaned. “Please.”

He struggled to get up, to go find Richelieu, but his limbs refused to work. The fire in his chest intensified and it spread through the rest of him, making his whole body burn and ache. His eyes were wet.

There were strong, gentle hands on his shoulders. Porthos’ voice came from far away. “Captain, stop. It’s all right.”

He was shaking. “Porthos,” he rasped but he wasn’t sure if Porthos could hear him from this gray land.

The hands gave a brief squeeze. “I know it hurts, but you’re safe now. I promise.”

There was a bitter liquid in his mouth. He tried to spit it out but there was a hand covering his mouth. He didn’t have the strength to struggle and had to swallow.

“I know. The stuff must taste as vile as it smells,” Porthos said soothingly. “But Dr. Lemay assures me it will help with the pain.”

There was something cool on his face, but Treville still wanted to retch. He wanted to scream. Instead, all he could do was whimper. He tried to curl in on himself.

The feeling of Porthos’ hands on his shoulders faded along with Porthos’ voice. The fire in his chest was extinguished, leaving a dull ache in its place. His tension receded and his limbs felt heavy. The gray world of nothingness began to dissolve.

He blinked and he was pacing in his office at the garrison. He unconsciously reached for the shape of the coin underneath his shirt. He bunched the material of his shirt in his fist. He scowled when he realized that it wasn’t there.

He grunted. He made himself drop his hand. He stood up straighter.

He didn’t need the coin anymore. He didn’t need the reminder that he’d been weak and foolish enough to share his bed with that vile man. He didn’t need the reminder of words of love spoken in the dark.

He continued pacing. Part of him ached and pointed out that they’d had their fair share of fights before. If the Queen could forgive Richelieu, surely he could attempt to do the same.

He shook his head. He didn’t care if Anne could forgive. He didn’t care if there were reasons. He hurt and he hoped Richelieu hurt too.

There was a brisk knock and Porthos came in. He stood still, out of the way, watching in barely hidden concern. “Captain, are you all right?”

Treville wanted to snap and snarl, but he held his tongue. He dropped into the chair behind his desk and impatiently motioned for Porthos to take the one across from him. “What happened?”

Porthos sat stiffly, never taking his eyes off Treville. “Nothing. I returned the coin just as you ordered.”

“How did the Cardinal react?”

Porthos shrugged. “He didn’t.”

Treville frowned. “What do you mean he didn’t?”

One end of Porthos’ mouth quirked up but there was no humor in the gesture. “I was watching but his bland mask didn’t crack.”

“He wasn’t surprised?”

Porthos shook his head. “No, nor did he appear upset.” 

Treville stared at a point past Porthos’ shoulder. He’d carried that token for ten years and Richelieu was always so reverential towards it. So, why didn’t Richelieu react? Why didn’t it hurt Richelieu just as much?

Porthos watched Treville carefully. “He did send a message.”

Treville’s focus snapped back to Porthos. “What?” he asked flatly.

Porthos hesitated for a split second before he relayed the message. “He said he will respect your wishes in this.”

Treville suddenly felt sick and he hated himself for it. He shouldn’t be this torn up, bleeding, inside. He was well rid of the bastard. “Is that all?” he ground out.

“Yes.” Porthos stopped trying to hide his concern. “Captain, what’s going on between you and the Cardinal?”

Treville jerked in his chair. “Nothing,” he growled. “There’s nothing between me and the Cardinal.”

Porthos sat forward. He kept his voice gentle. “With all due respect, it doesn’t look like nothing.”

By contrast, Treville’s tone was cold and cutting. “Leave it, Porthos.”

Porthos inclined his head. He stood up and came to attention. “May I be excused, Captain?”

Treville woke with a start. He looked around, briefly disoriented, before he recognized his quarters. He was in bed. He ached all over and could barely move. He glanced down at the bandages wrapped around his chest.

d’Artagnan appeared at his side. He grinned widely. “You’re awake.” He ran to the door and shouted out, “The Captain’s awake!” He ran back. “Thank God. You gave us quite a scare.”

Treville smiled tiredly. “What happened?” he rasped.

d’Artagnan poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the nearby stand. “Slowly.” He helped Treville take a sip. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Treville sighed in relief as the cool water hit his parched throat. “I’m not sure. My memory’s a bit hazy. Something about a painting.”

d’Artagnan pulled a chair up to sit at Treville’s side. “That’s right. You were going to pick up the King’s gift, a portrait of Princess Louise.”

Treville grimaced. “That’s right. Rochefort’s errand.”

“It was an excuse to get you out in the open,” d’Artagnan explained excitedly. “The assassin shot you in the back. It was all part of a plot to get rid of the King’s council and kill the treaty with Sweden. The woman who we thought was Princess Louise and her footman were hired assassins.”

“Assassin?” Treville echoed. “In my case, why bother?”

d’Artagnan winced. “The King still loves you, Captain. I’m sure of it.”

Treville sighed heavily. “He hasn’t asked after me has he?”

“No, but the Queen has. She has been quite worried for you,” d’Artagnan replied earnestly.

Treville nodded to the glass in d’Artagnan’s hands and d’Artagnan helped him take another drink. “What happened to these assassins?”

“The man is dead. Porthos killed him,” d’Artagnan answered with grim satisfaction. “As for the false princess…” he shrugged. “…she’s disappeared. Someone drugged all the guards the night she escaped.”

“Then she’s most likely gone from Paris.” Treville yawned. His whole body felt heavy. “Are Athos and Aramis back yet?”

“No, but they’re on their way.” d’Artagnan rose gracefully and quietly to his feet. “Sleep, Captain.”

Treville closed his eyes. He buried his face in his pillow. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve sworn that it smelled like Armand.


End file.
